


I'll Love You More so Don't Be Scared

by katquarius



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Bor'ka is my gay son I love him, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Eve doing what she does best: psychoanalyzing Villanelle (and her brothers), F/F, Fluff, One Shot, Post-Season/Series 03, Soft Eve Polastri, Soft Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villaneve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katquarius/pseuds/katquarius
Summary: "As the 'Rocketman' credits started rolling, Eve spoke up. 'Why do you like Elton John so much?' she asked Bor’ka.He broke from his Elton induced trance to peer over at her, a perplexed look on his face as if he had forgotten that she was there. 'Hold on,' he started, blinking once, twice. 'Who are you again?'"ORPyotr needs someone to babysit Bor'ka, but absolutely cannot trust his sister to do it alone. Villanelle enlists Eve's help.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 36
Kudos: 230





	I'll Love You More so Don't Be Scared

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this fic of me basically just thinking of a bunch of conversations that I wanted Eve and Villanelle to have with Pyotr and Bor'ka and figuring out how to put them in the same work.
> 
> The title is from "Come To Me" by the Goo Goo Dolls, aka the song that makes me believe in love.

Villanelle’s phone started ringing, so she turned down the volume on the TV to answer. She didn’t have the number saved, but then again, she didn’t have many numbers saved at all. “Hello?”

“Oksana?”

She frowned. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it over the tinniness of what was likely a long distance call. “Who is this?”

“It’s Pyotr.”

Huh. She hadn’t heard from him since she blew his house up and killed their mother almost a year ago. Not that she expected to, of course. Come to think of it, how did Pyotr even have her number? She must have left her phone out unlocked at some point during her visit. “What do you want?”

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

Even Villanelle couldn’t hide her surprise, eyebrows jumping to her hairline. “Really? Even after-”

“Yes, Oksana, even after what you did.” He sighed, long suffering, and already tinged with annoyance even though they were only about twenty seconds into the conversation. “I am not happy about it.”

Villanelle was curious, and slightly apprehensive. The favor that was asked most recently of her entailed assassinating a woman in Lyon, and lately she had actually been enjoying not killing people unless it was necessary to stay alive. Pyotr didn’t seem like the type to hire her as a hitwoman, though, unless Fedya had been grievously mistaken when he likened him to a little puppy dog. “What is it?”

“I need you to help me find a babysitter for Bor’ka.”

That was about the last thing Villanelle ever expected Pyotr to say. “What?”

He mistook her incredulity for confusion. “You know, the person that watches over a kid when the parents have to leave.”

“I know what a babysitter is.” She rolled her eyes. “Why do you need _me_ to find one?”

“Bor’ka and me are just traveling around. We haven’t settled down anywhere, so we don’t know anyone well enough to ask them to do it.”

“And you think I do? I told you, I travel all over the world, too.”

“Yes, because you are a pilot. But you still live somewhere, right? You spend most of your time in England.”

Villanelle was surprised Pyotr still believed her pilot cover even after the multiple homicides. Perhaps he was even more gullible than Fedya suggested. Or maybe he had met other murderous pilots before, so none of this was particularly shocking.

In any case, he got one thing right. She did indeed live somewhere, she thought, glancing around the homey cottage she shared with Eve. But it wasn’t in England. After choosing one another on the bridge, they ran away to a charming small town in Denmark called Mariager, where they set up camp and resolved to destroy the Twelve together. It was only an hour away from the airport, enabling them to make a quick getaway if needed, but was inconspicuous enough to avoid too much attention. As an added bonus, Villanelle got the opportunity to practice her Danish, which was admittedly not on par with the rest of her languages upon their arrival, but had quickly improved.

“I do live somewhere, but I don’t really have any friends,” she replied honestly. Then something else occurred to her. “Wait, why didn’t you ask me to babysit him?” Villanelle usually got along with kids, it was babies she didn’t like. She enjoyed trying on Elton John costumes with Bor’ka, and had a strange affinity for Irina, despite their incessant bickering and the occasional kidnapping. She was even able to see eye to eye with that kid from the Paris hospital, Gabriel, before she snapped his neck. Yes. She was good with kids. They were easier to understand, and they laughed at her jokes. She would have fun babysitting Bor’ka.

“Uh, no. Absolutely not,” Pyotr said in lieu of an actual answer.

“What? Why not?” Villanelle demanded.

“You killed our mum and Bor’ka’s dad!” Pyotr exclaimed, incredulous.

“Yeah, but I didn’t do anything to _him,_ and what I did was for your own good. Actually, I saved Bor’ka’s life and gave you a lot of money. You should thank me. I am excellent with kids.” She nodded to herself in affirmation.

Pyotr muttered something under his breath in Russian, but it was too quiet to pick up over the phone. Villanelle didn’t really care anyway. She knew her logic was sound.

“You know what?” He sighed again, tiredly this time. “I don’t really have many other options. But you are _not_ doing it alone. Do you have anyone that could at least help you?”

Villanelle thought for all of half a second before realizing that she had Eve. She hadn’t considered her earlier, what with the two of them living together and Pyotr apparently wanting to keep Bor’ka away from her, but now Pyotr’s conditions were less stringent.

Villanelle never got the impression that Eve liked kids very much, or else she likely would have had them with the Moustache. On the other hand, she knew Eve well enough to know that the other woman had a never ending quest to learn as much about Villanelle as humanly possible, and would probably relish the opportunity to meet her brothers in the flesh.

“Yes,” Villanelle answered, “my girlfriend can help me.”

* * *

After Pyotr hung up, Villanelle returned to watching ‘Dirty Dancing.’ She and Eve usually watched TV or movies together in the evenings, but Eve was running errands and didn’t particularly like cheesy romantic plotlines, so Villanelle spent a couple hours mourning her inability to dance as she watched Baby and Johnny salsa.

Her and Pyotr had worked out the logistics on the phone, plane tickets already purchased, and she was eager to tell Eve about it. She hoped she’d be excited.

Villanelle was actually surprised at how excited she was herself; apparently she had missed her brothers more than she thought she would. Perhaps the emotional turmoil of killing her mother was the only thing she had had space for in her brain, but now that she was doing better on that front, she had the mental energy to think about them as well, and how she had liked being around them, even if they were irritating. Villanelle hadn’t seen anyone in her family for almost twenty years when she visited Grismet. She couldn’t deny that it was nice to bond with people who shared her blood.

After the movie, she got up to start making dinner, pulling out thawed chicken, chicken broth, heavy cream, garlic, spinach, sun-dried tomatoes, parmesan cheese, and olive oil. She cooked the chicken breasts in a skillet as they soaked in olive oil, then whisked the other ingredients together until the sauce started to thicken and the vegetables started to wilt.

As she was dumping fettuccine noodles into boiling water, she heard their front door open, followed by the sound of Eve’s keys clanging against the table in the foyer.

“Hey, darling,” Eve greeted as she entered the kitchen, depositing the groceries onto the island.

“Hi baby.” Villanelle smiled as Eve leaned up to kiss her on the cheek.

Eve peered over her shoulder at the stove. “Whatcha making? It smells delicious.”

“Creamy Tuscan Garlic Chicken,” Villanelle replied, stirring.

“Yum.” Eve started putting the groceries away. “What did you get up to while I was out?”

“I watched a movie. Oh, and I talked to my brother.”

“You did?” Villanelle could feel Eve’s eyes on her, interest piqued.

“Yes. On the phone.”

“Which one?”

“Pyotr. He needed a babysitter for Bor’ka. I said we could do it.” The noodles were done, so Villanelle started plating the food.

“You _did?_ ”

It was sometimes difficult for Villanelle to tell if Eve was annoyed at her or just surprised, but she hoped it was the latter.

“Yes. And I already took care of the travel arrangements, we’re leaving for Greece tomorrow morning,” Villanelle informed, carrying their plates to the table, setting them down, and returning to the kitchen for drinks and silverware.

“Greece?” Eve echoed, joining Villanelle at the table. “Tomorrow? What is going on?”

“I told you,” Villanelle said as she chewed, unsure about what was confusing. “We are leaving tomorrow to go babysit my little brother.”

Eve sighed after swallowing her mouthful of chicken. “Don’t you think you should have asked me before booking plane tickets for a flight that’s less than a day away? What if I had something going on?”

Villanelle frowned. She hadn’t expected the conversation to go like this at all. “I knew you didn’t have anything going on. I looked at our Google calendar.”

Eve sighed, smiled softly. “That wasn’t really my point, though.”

Well, that was a needlessly vague sentiment. Villanelle was starting to get confused, which in turn made her frustrated. She hated not understanding things when other people did, and couldn’t stop her voice from raising a little. “I thought you would want to meet them. I thought it would be fine.”

“I do! And it is fine,” Eve laughed, placing a hand over Villanelle’s on the table. “I’m not mad at you. Just, in the future, could you talk to me about stuff like this before making the decision for both of us?”

Villanelle let Eve’s reassurances calm her down. She sat quietly, thinking. “So is the problem that I booked last minute tickets without telling you, or that I made a big decision without telling you?” Villanelle couldn’t learn from her mistakes unless she knew exactly what the mistake was. And she wanted to learn, for Eve.

“A little bit of both, I think,” Eve answered. “Plane tickets are expensive, and while I know you have money, it won’t last forever now that you’re off the Twelve’s payroll. It made me nervous that you bought them without making sure we would both be able to go, I don’t want to waste money.”

Villanelle nodded in understanding. It did suck to no longer have a constant stream of cash. She’d had to start rewearing outfits.

“And you and I are a team, remember? We decided that before we left London. So I didn’t like hearing that you’d suddenly decided we’d be taking a trip, like, nine countries over, without asking if it was something that I wanted to do or was able to do.”

Villanelle took a moment to mull all of that over. While she still wasn’t exactly sure what constituted a decision important enough to double check with Eve, she at least had a guideline to go off of, now. It was a step in the right direction. “Okay. I’m sorry,” she said genuinely.

“It’s okay,” Eve replied with a smile. Villanelle could tell she was pleased with her; she had made a lot of progress in the whole ‘how to have a normal relationship’ department. Although it required a lot of patience and communication, it was a very rewarding relationship for both of them. Eve was proud of Villanelle and enjoyed watching her grow, and Villanelle lived to please Eve.

“Eve?”

“Hm?”

Villanelle grinned. “Is it okay if we go to Greece tomorrow morning to babysit my brother?”

Eve laughed, resting her chin in her palm, elbow on the table, as she looked at Villanelle. “Yes, darling.”

Villanelle leaned across the table, lips puckered, and Eve obliged her with a garlicky kiss.

“Thank you for dinner, by the way.”

* * *

Later that evening, Eve broke the comfortable silence that had descended upon their slightly sweaty bodies as they recovered, wrapped in each other’s arms. Villanelle had been a little needier tonight, a little more willing to relinquish control, and Eve had come to learn that that meant she was struggling with something, or at least that something was on her mind. 

“Are you nervous?” she asked into Villanelle’s hair, fingers trailing up and down her spine.

“About what?”

“Seeing your brothers again.”

Villanelle’s fingers stopped tracing circles onto Eve’s stomach as she thought about the question, her hand dropping to splay motionless on the warm skin there. “No. I don’t think so.”

“No?” Eve prompted.

“No. If they were that mad at me, Pyotr wouldn’t have called at all.”

That was a fair point. Eve still marvelled at the way Villanelle’s brain rationalized certain things--if something wasn’t worth worrying about, she could simply refuse to worry about it. It was enviable at times, and jarring at others.

“Are you nervous about me meeting them?”

Villanelle lifted her head off of Eve’s chest to peer up at her, and Eve recognized the look in her eyes. It was the searching gaze she gave whenever she was trying to decide whether she should lie or tell the truth. The longer they’d been together, the more often Villanelle chose the latter. And it always made Eve’s day when she did. She knew how difficult it was for Villanelle to open up to people, so Eve felt privileged whenever she shared something with her that she wouldn’t have told anyone else. And Eve must be doing something right, if Villanelle was still trusting her with her secrets, which also made her feel good.

“Yes,” Villanelle answered simply, and lowered her head back to Eve’s chest.

“How come?” she asked gently.

Fidgety when uncomfortable, Villanelle shifted and started playing with the fingers of Eve’s free hand. “Because they are part of my past. You’ve heard about my past, and read my files, but you haven’t ever seen it for yourself. Now you will.”

Eve didn’t think it was the place to remind Villanelle that she had met Anna. She had always thought that Villanelle’s relationship with Anna was a cornerstone of her past, but perhaps it wasn’t when compared to her family dynamic.

“Why does that scare you?” Eve asked instead.

Villanelle had once corrected her for using that word, claiming that she wasn’t afraid of anything. She didn’t protest anymore, though, either finding some truth in it or deciding that it wasn’t a necessary argument to have.

Eve guessed it was the former; Villanelle loved to argue. She tried not to feel smug at her own insight. 

Villanelle shrugged as best she could while lying on her side, curled into Eve. “I don’t know.”

Her favorite deflection tactics: feigning indifference and ignorance. Eve waited her out, fingernails scratching lightly at her smooth back.

Villanelle sighed. “I’m worried that you’re expecting one thing about meeting them, and if it isn’t what you expected, then you’ll be... disappointed. And, what if Pyotr tells you stories or something?”

Eve felt the confession like a ball of lead dropping into her stomach. It hurt to know that her interest in Villanelle’s upbringing had driven her to think this way, even if it was totally inadvertently. “Look at me, Oksana,” she requested.

Villanelle lifted her head up again, looking at Eve with those big, sad eyes. Eve cupped her cheek, her thumb stroking along soft skin as she urged Villanelle to believe her words.

“Your brothers can’t say or do _anything_ that would change the way I feel about you, okay? Or how highly I think of you. I don’t care if they’re assholes, I don’t care if they’re angels.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then why do you always want to know so much about my past?” Villanelle asked, reasonably.

“I like learning about your past because I want to know all of you, and I want to understand you. Not because I’m judging you.” Eve desperately hoped her words hit their mark, because they were the truth. “Sweetheart, I know about all the people you’ve killed, all the penises you’ve cut off. Do you really think I’m going to change my mind _now?_ ” she asked, attempting to insert some levity into the conversation, but still meaning every word.

It worked; Villanelle cracked a smile. “I guess not.”

“Definitely not,” Eve confirmed.

Villanelle grinned wider, and leaned down to kiss Eve.

“I love you, Oksana,” Eve assured into her mouth. “Everything I learn about you makes me love you more.”

“I love you too,” Villanelle answered, as Eve moved to kiss down her neck.

* * *

They woke up earlier than usual the next morning to prepare for their trip. They were only staying the night in Greece, and leaving early in the morning, deciding that it was probably best not to turn the babysitting gig into a full, friendly visit, given Villanelle’s misdeeds toward the rest of the family. Perhaps one day they’d hang out properly, but not so soon.

Villanelle didn’t mind. Like she said, her brothers were irritating. Plus, this way, she could pack lighter. She only needed four outfits: a comfortable one for the plane, one for the evening of babysitting, pajamas for the night, and one for the train back. She crammed it all in the suitcase, considerately leaving room for Eve’s three outfits. Eve didn’t believe in travel outfits; her regular clothes were generally comfortable enough for plane and train rides.

Toiletries, passports, money, and other miscellaneous items all packed, they waited outside for the taxi to arrive. They exchanged a few words in Danish with the driver--Eve had been picking it up, too--before spending the majority of the drive to the Aarhus Airport in silence, barring a couple of hushed conversations in the back seat. They weren’t sure if the driver spoke English, and they were always mindful that the Twelve or MI6 could be listening in on them.

The flight to Athens was seven hours. Eve spent most of it snoozing against Villanelle’s shoulder. (They’d stayed up later than intended last night, round two starting after Eve decided to reassure Villanelle with her body as well as with her words.) Villanelle was content to listen to her music, clunky headphones cycling through classical, her favorite national anthems, and pop--mostly 80s and 90s. There was a significant amount of Elton John. She mouthed the words to ‘Tiny Dancer,’ ‘Your Song,’ ‘Rocket Man,’ ‘Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,’ ‘Bennie And The Jets,’ ‘Empty Garden,’ and more. She pointedly didn’t listen to ‘Crocodile Rock.’ It hadn’t gone well the last time she listened to that song on public transportation.

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably, not wanting to wake Eve, but brimming with unspent energy from sitting in the same place for too long. Or was it nerves? Hard to tell.

Eve roused. “Are we there yet?”

Villanelle slipped her headphones down around her neck and furrowed her brow. “No? Can’t you hear the engines?”

“No, I know,” Eve explained. “It was kind of a joke, like it feels like it’s taking a while.”

“Oh. Well it is a bit of a long flight.”

“It is,” Eve agreed, yawning. “How long do we have left?”

Villanelle checked her watch. “Only about an hour. We left at nine our time and it’s three now.”

“Is there a time zone change?”

“Yes, so it’ll actually be five local time when we land.”

“You’re good at that. I can’t stand time zones,” Eve muttered.

Villanelle shrugged, smiling. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

“Indeed. How far is it to Pyotr’s place?”

“He’s a half hour away. He thought about picking us up but he doesn’t have an International Driving Permit, so we can taxi again.”

Eve noticed that Villanelle’s accent had started curling around some of her words uncharacteristically, ‘international driving permit’ lingering in her mouth. It was another one of her tells that something was up. (Villanelle was surprisingly easy to read when she wasn’t focused on maintaining her mask, she just didn’t take it off in front of most people.) Eve had a feeling that she was more nervous about seeing her brothers than she’d previously let on, or perhaps she truly hadn’t been nervous until they hopped on the plane and the impending meeting grew closer in both time and distance. Eve didn’t want to prod, though. She had pressed Villanelle enough the night before and didn’t want to aggravate her. 

Eve still took her hand in hers, though, and rubbed her thumb over the back of it, unable to help herself. “Sounds good.”

Villanelle smiled at her and squeezed her hand, and they were mostly quiet for the rest of the flight.

* * *

The taxi pulled up to the address Pyotr gave Villanelle, and she seemed disappointed to find them standing in front of a dilapidated townhouse. She scoffed.

“Hey, be nice,” Eve chastised, suddenly worried about what Villanelle had thought of her tiny, messy New Malden flat.

“It’s not that. I gave them enough money for anything they would need for the next year or so. They don’t need to live somewhere like this.”

Oh, well that was less bad. “I thought you said the money was for an Elton John concert?”

“Even after that, there still should have been a lot left over,” Villanelle answered, carrying their suitcase up the stairs.

Huh. Perhaps an affinity for the finer things in life just didn’t run in Villanelle’s family. Pyotr and Bor’ka seemed content to live minimalistically, whereas Villanelle felt the need to surround herself with the wealth she lacked in her childhood and early adulthood.

Eve followed her up the stairs and waited for her to knock. Villanelle hesitated, and glanced back at Eve. At her encouraging nod, she took a deep breath and knocked thrice on the door.

A young man opened it, Pyotr, she assumed, and she was startled at how similar he looked to Villanelle. She couldn’t put her finger on why, as Villanelle’s natural hair was darker, and her eyes were lighter, but still. It must have been the shape of their faces, or the set of their mouths, or something.

“Oksana,” he said, like he couldn’t believe she was standing on his doorstep, even though he had invited her.

“Hello, Pyotr. This is Eve,” Villanelle jutted her thumb at her.

“Hi,” Eve said, trying not to get bogged down in the awkwardness. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Pyotr replied politely. He must have gotten all the civility, and Villanelle the hostility. He turned his gaze back to Villanelle. “You didn’t bring any gasoline, did you?” he asked darkly, and slightly snarkily. (Perhaps his civility didn’t extend to people who killed his mother.)

Villanelle scoffed again. “Of course not. It wouldn’t have been allowed on the plane.”

Pyotr’s eyes widened.

“I’m joking!” Villanelle promised, and Eve had to hide her smile. The joke was in terrible, truly atrocious, taste, but it was also fucking funny.

Pyotr glared at her for a moment longer, before relenting with a heavy sigh. Eve knew the feeling. “Come in.”

Villanelle turned to raise her eyebrows at Eve, a smug grin on her face, and Eve had to force herself to shake her head ruefully when all she wanted to do was snicker back. Villanelle didn’t need any more encouragement on the wisecracking front.

They followed Pyotr into the house, setting their luggage down in the foyer.

“Bor’ka!” he called from the bottom of the stairs. “Sestra zdes’!”

A little boy came bounding down the stairs, probably eleven years old? Eve wasn’t good at guessing kid ages.

“Oksana!” he shouted when he saw Villanelle, and ran straight into her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Eve watched in rapt attention as Villanelle stumbled backwards, surprised, then slowly lifted her arms to settle around his shoulders, barely touching him. Her brows were furrowed in thought.

Bor’ka pulled away a moment later. “I missed you. I am so mad at you!”

Eve saw confusion flicker over Villanelle’s face. “Okay?”

“Why did you do it?” Bor’ka asked, half yelling.

“She deserved it,” Villanelle shrugged. “She was horrible to me, and to you, too. I did you a favor.”

Eve knew that there was more to the story, Villanelle had told her as much. She knew about the ‘darkness’ Villanelle and her mother had been obsessed with placing on each other. She knew that Villanelle was desperate to blame her actions on someone else, and her mother hadn’t let Villanelle make her the scapegoat, even if it was the truth. Especially if it was the truth. Above all, Eve knew that Villanelle’s mother had made her feel alone, in more ways than one. And Villanelle hated feeling alone.

But, it would be difficult to explain all of that to a kid, who had likely never heard of psychopathy, and he might not know all of the family drama, being so young.

“What about the rest of them, though?” he countered. “Why did you kill my dad and brother?”

Eve and Villanelle had talked about that, too. Villanelle had said that she was basically on autopilot after she killed her mom, running on anger and hurt and sadness and adrenaline, and had the house drenched in gasoline before she even realized what she was doing. She was tying up loose ends, like when she snuck into the hospital to kill Kasia Molkovska after the main event of assassinating Victor Kedrin. It was a brief moment of clarity that had her realizing that she didn’t truly want her brothers to die, which was when she set Bor’ka’s alarm, prepared the money and the notes, and made sure Pyotr was in the barn.

It was pretty horrible to tell a child that killing their family was simply ‘tying up loose ends,’ though, and Villanelle must like this kid, or else they wouldn’t have flown to Greece on such short notice for him.

“I don’t know,” Villanelle said instead. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

That was a good answer, Eve thought. True, without revealing too much.

“I saved you guys, though, right?” Villanelle tried.

Eve watched the gears turn in Bor’ka’s head, and could see him working out whether or not he should forgive Villanelle, weighing the fact that she killed his family against the fact that she was fun to be around, was one of the remaining two members of his family, and had helped him see Elton. She felt a kinship to this boy. Before they started dating, she had spent many, many hours trying to sort out her feelings for Villanelle--trying to decide if she could forgive her for killing Bill and for shooting her, and trying to determine if she already had, deep down. Going back and forth between wondering if she loved the other woman, or hated her guts. Eventually, she had fallen to one side, and found that the grass was actually greener over here. She wondered which way Bor’ka would fall.

“You wouldn’t have even needed to save us if you hadn’t planned to kill us in the first place.”

Fuck, this kid was a tough nut to crack. He had Villanelle’s cleverness and talent for arguing.

Villanelle seemed to agree with her, frowning down at Bor’ka. She didn’t have a comeback for that.

“But, I like you. So, I think we can still be friends,” he decided, contemplative.

No one was immune to Villanelle’s charm, it seemed, no matter what dead bodies she left behind.

Villanelle looked like she still didn’t really know what to say. “Thank you?” She glanced at Eve for help.

“Well!” Eve exclaimed. “Glad that’s all cleared up. Pyotr, could you please show us where we’ll be sleeping?” she asked, attempting to diffuse tension.

“Sure,” he said, and made for the stairs. Villanelle grabbed their luggage and headed up after Eve.

Pyotr seemed like he would take slightly more convincing than Bor’ka, being his protective older sibling and all. Eve had a feeling he’d come around eventually, though.

After leading them to the small guest bedroom, he left to give them some space to settle in. Villanelle changed out of her travelling outfit, a Marc Jacobs tracksuit, and into her outfit for the rest of the day, black designer jeans and a blue sweater, while Eve unpacked some of their toiletries.

“That went well,” Villanelle said.

“Yeah?” Overall, Eve had to agree, but it was strange that any conversation regarding matricide could possibly be considered to go well.

“Yes. I was worried Pyotr would punch me in the face.”

“Oh. Yeah, it definitely could’ve gone worse.” Eve wondered what she would’ve done if things became violent. Villanelle would’ve definitely deserved at least one punch to the face, but that didn’t mean Eve wanted to watch it happen. Would she have intervened? Tried to pull Pyotr off of her? Villanelle probably wouldn’t have even needed help, as skilled as she was. Eve was content to never find out.

Villanelle nodded in agreement, and the two headed downstairs and into the kitchen.

Pyotr began to explain everything they needed to know for the evening. “There is some food in the fridge for dinner, don’t let Bor’ka stay up past eleven, don’t give him any caffeine after eight. There are some games and movies on the bookshelf in the living room, they were here when we arrived. I will be back early tomorrow morning, right around when you two leave. I will lock the door behind me when I leave, so don’t worry about that.” He clapped his hands together. “I think that is everything. Do you have any questions?”

Villanelle shrugged. Eve asked, “What’s the wifi password?”

Pyotr read the sequence off of the router for them both. 

“If you have any questions after I leave, you can call me. Or ask Bor’ka. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” Eve smiled as they walked him to the door.

“I will see you tomorrow.” With that, he picked up his backpack sitting by the door, and walked out. They heard the key tumblers shifting as he locked it behind him, and then the sound of his retreating footfalls.

“Where is he going, by the way?” Eve asked.

Villanelle shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

* * *

A little while later, Bor’ka was sitting between Eve and Villanelle on the couch as they watched, not shockingly, ‘Rocketman.’

They didn’t talk much, Villanelle and Bor’ka enthralled in the film, and Eve content to watch the two of them. Bor’ka didn’t look as much like Villanelle as Pyotr did, being her half-sibling, but they had the same dark brown hair.

They seemed to have a lot of the same mannerisms, though, she noticed as she studied them. Or, rather, they had the same lack of mannerisms. While they both watched the movie with rapt attention, neither of them reacted much to the different emotions the scenes suggested that they feel. Villanelle didn’t react at all. She didn’t cry during the sad scenes, or smile at the happy ones, or frown at the frustrating ones. She did laugh at the jokes, though. Eve was used to it, she knew that it was a combination of Villanelle’s reduced empathy and her ability to totally separate fiction from reality. She still loved movies--enjoyed good plotlines and appreciated good direction--they just didn’t get an emotional reaction out of her.

It was fascinating to watch the same thing on Bor’ka’s face. He was slightly more emotive, a slight smile here or downturned lips there, but mostly, he just sat there, like Villanelle.

Eve was enjoying psychoanalyzing the three siblings, especially regarding the way they emoted. Pyotr wore his emotions on his sleeve, his anger at Villanelle clear from the beginning. On the other hand, Villanelle, as Eve knew, was more likely to conceal her emotions, especially with people she wasn’t close to. Bor’ka was initially both excited and angry to see Villanelle, but had clammed up a bit since then.

Bor’ka was like the perfect blend between his older siblings.

Furthermore, even though Pyotr was pissed at Villanelle now, Eve had heard the story about how Villanelle’s step-brother referred to him as a puppy. She could tell that he was naturally kindhearted, which was probably part of why Villanelle’s betrayal cut him so deep. The yin to his yang, Villanelle was rude and mean to pretty much everyone who wasn’t Eve. (The question was, was Villanelle sweet deep down, and the world had soured her, like Eve tended to believe? Or was she rotten to the core, but had exactly one soft spot, like the rest of the world would probably think?)

In any case, the jury was still out on Bor’ka. Eve hadn’t been able to get a good enough impression of him yet, but wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a cross between Pyotr and Villanelle in that regard, too.

In some ways, she wanted Bor’ka to be more like Villanelle. That would contribute to the nature side of the nature vs. nurture argument, showing that Villanelle wasn’t alone, that the way she is is a genetic thing. She could blame her mother for giving her fucked up genes, because ‘look! You gave them to him, too!’ Also, Eve simply liked Villanelle, so was it so wrong to want Bor’ka to be like her?

If Bor’ka was more like Pyotr, then that would contribute to the nurture aspect. Honestly, Villanelle would probably be fine with that outcome, too. She could still blame her mother, for the abuse and for dumping her in an orphanage, helping to set her up for a life in juvy and then in prison and then in an international crime syndicate.

Either way, Villanelle won. (So perhaps Eve shouldn’t hope for Bor’ka to be like her. She didn’t want him to grow up to be an assassin, even though she did love hers dearly.) 

In reality, Eve believed that it was probably a combination of nature and nurture that led to the Villanelle she knows today. The fact that she, her mother, and her half-brother were all at least a little off, combined with Villanelle’s shit upbringing, didn’t give a great prognosis. Eve wondered if Villanelle believed the same thing deep down.

As the credits started rolling, Eve spoke up. “Why do you like Elton John so much?” she asked Bor’ka.

He broke from his Elton induced trance to peer over at her, a perplexed look on his face as if he had forgotten that she was there. “Hold on,” he started, blinking once, twice. “Who are you again?”

“I’m Eve,” she laughed at their failed introductions. Since she had already heard about Pyotr and Bor’ka before meeting them, she forgot that they hadn’t heard about her.

“And, you know Oksana?”

“Yes,” Eve answered with a small smile, making eye contact with Villanelle over Bor’ka’s head.

“Are you English?”

Eve wasn’t sure why he would assume that. Perhaps he couldn’t differentiate between accents, and just thought that she was from England because she spoke English. “Well, I was born in England, but I grew up in America.”

He nodded, thinking. “How do you know Oksana?”

Eve looked up at Villanelle again, who was now wearing an enormous smirk at the prospect of telling Bor’ka the truth of how they met. It was a hilarious thought, Eve had to admit.

“Oksana is my girlfriend,” she explained. That word always gave her butterflies, but it still sounded… odd when she thought about the fact that they could have once been considered arch nemeses, if they lived in some sort of spy drama. ‘Girlfriend’ just seemed so… mundane for them. The way Villanelle beamed whenever she used it made any discomfort worth it, though.

For a moment, she wondered how Bor’ka would react to the revelation. She knew Russia wasn’t the most tolerant of countries; what if his parents had instilled homophobia in him from a young age? He had spent a lot more time with his parents than Villanelle had with hers, so it was possible that she evaded the narrow minded indoctrination that he didn’t.

“Really?” he asked, eyes widening at Eve before he swiveled his head around to look at Villanelle.

Villanelle just nodded at him, smiling slightly with her eyebrows raised. Eve thought her expression looked genuinely fond. It was heartwarming. Villanelle didn’t seem at all worried that he might not understand, or might reject them.

“So, you are like Elton?” Bor’ka asked Villanelle, wondrously, and all the pieces finally fell into place for Eve.

“Mostly,” she answered simply.

Bor’ka turned back to Eve. “And you are, too?”

“Well, not exactly. I was actually married to a man for a long time.” 

“So, do you like both?” he asked, curious.

“I don’t know, to be honest. For my whole life I only liked men. But then I met Oksana and things changed. I’m not sure if I like men and women, or just men and Oksana. I don’t really think about it, now that I have her,” she told him honestly.

Villanelle preened a little at that, and Eve smiled.

“Huh,” Bor’ka said, contemplating. He glanced between Eve and Villanelle, then looked down at his lap, where he was wringing his hands. “I think I might be like Elton,” he said quietly.

The way the information was revealed like a confession didn’t sit well with Eve. A kid would have no reason to think being gay was shameful unless they were told as much. She worried that her theory about Bor’ka’s parents was true. She wondered if it came more from his dad or from his and Villanelle’s mom.

“That’s okay,” Eve told him gently. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“That’s not what Mum said. When boys kissed on TV she said it was against God. She didn’t know about Elton, or else I think she would’ve made me take my posters down.”

Eve watched as Villanelle clenched her jaw, turning her body to stare blankly ahead. Eve ached to reach out to her, but she was on the other side of the couch.

“It doesn’t matter what she thought,” Villanelle snapped. “She’s dead now.”

And, well, that was a fair point, but Eve didn’t think it needed to be so harsh. “Even if she were still alive, it wouldn’t matter what she thought,” she clarified. “You come from a narrow minded family in a narrow minded place. They may disagree with you, but that doesn’t mean you’re wrong. Parents aren’t all-knowing. All you can do is whatever feels right for you.”

For a moment, Eve reflected on the fact that pursuing an international assassin had somehow led her to be an avid supporter of LGBTQ rights.

“You’re sure?” Bor’ka asked, looking up at her.

“Absolutely,” Eve answered, resolute. “How could loving someone possibly be a bad thing?”

She realized, then, that she was inadvertently defending her own relationship, but not necessarily because she and Villanelle were both women, or because she was twenty years Villanelle’s senior. Those things never seemed like much of a roadblock. They were far lower on the totem pole of taboo than the mutual murder attempts, their opposing careers, and Villanelle’s neurodivergence, for example.

Sometimes Eve worried about what the people in her life would think if they found out. She knew Niko and Kenny wouldn’t have approved, if she were to tell Niko, or if Kenny were still alive. The Bitter Pill gang--probably not, Villanelle had told her that she made quite the first impression on them. Carolyn? Who the hell knew. She told Eve that heroes only get the girl in Hollywood, but then turned around and supported Villanelle running after Eve when she left Paul’s house.

(Elena and Bill probably would’ve grown to like Villanelle; they all had similar senses of humor. That thought hit Eve like a bullet through the chest. It wasn’t fair that Bill was killed by the one romantic partner of Eve’s that he might have endorsed. Lord knows he found Niko a little boring.

Maybe Eve should give Elena a call.)

And even if none of them ever came around to Villanelle, did it really even matter? Would Eve even listen to them? She didn’t think so. Villanelle made her so fucking happy; she’d follow her to the ends of the Earth. She sort of already had.

Eve gave herself the mental reminder to remember her own words whenever she got bogged down in the opinions of others. ‘How could loving someone possibly be a bad thing?’

Bor’ka was thinking Eve’s assertion over. “Okay,” he nodded. “I am gay, then,” he proclaimed, proudly, with a smile.

And Eve hadn’t ever been a big fan of children, but _man_ this one already had a place in her heart. How did their wreck of a mother end up raising such lovable kids?

(Okay, maybe Eve was the only person under the sun who considered Villanelle to be lovable, but still. It counted.)

“Congratulations, buddy,” Eve laughed, and even Villanelle broke out of her dark thoughts to aim a small smile down at Bor’ka.

“I wonder if Pyotr is gay, too,” Villanelle pondered aloud. “That would be funny. Our intolerant mother managed to have all queer kids.”

Eve was inclined to agree. That would definitely be ironic.

* * *

After the movie, they moved into the kitchen for dinner. Eve had made a beeline to the freezer to check for microwave meals, but Villanelle had pitched a fit about the importance of fresh food, so she relented.

Unfortunately, the fridge wasn’t stocked with an embarrassment of riches, so they settled for a hodgepodge of meals. Eve set Bor’ka up with a frozen personal pizza (he insisted), while Villanelle made a turkey club sandwich for herself and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Eve, as well as salad for all of them.

As Eve approached the counter to take her food from Villanelle, she absentmindedly slid a hand up to rest against the small of Villanelle’s back. Villanelle responded by pressing a kiss to Eve’s temple as she passed the plate over.

When they turned around, Bor’ka was staring at them.

“What?” Villanelle asked flatly as they sat down at the table, already digging into her sandwich.

“Nothing,” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “You just seem happier than the last time I saw you.”

“What?” she asked again, voice rising an octave.

Bor’ka squinted at her, like he was debating whether or not to repeat himself. “You heard me,” he settled on, returning to his pizza.

Villanelle laughed nervously, an honest to God nervous laugh, like a shy schoolgirl, as she glanced quickly at Eve and then back to her food.

Eve made a note to tease her about it later but she also took it for what it was: a confirmation that she made Villanelle as happy as Villanelle made her, but Villanelle just struggled with voicing it. Not that any of that came as a surprise to Eve, but it was rewarding to have it recognized. She chewed quietly.

Villanelle cleared her throat. “Why do you even need a babysitter anyway?” she asked Bor’ka, undoubtedly in an attempt to change the subject. “Aren’t you, like, fourteen?”

“I’m ten!” he exclaimed, exasperated.

“Oh.”

It seemed Villanelle was even worse at guessing ages than Eve was. She wondered if Villanelle knew Eve’s actual age, that she was likely only a few years younger than Villanelle’s mother, instead of just thinking that she was generally older than Villanelle.

On second thought, being around her mother’s age was probably part of the point.

“I’m old enough to be your mother,” Villanelle said to Bor’ka, eyes widening as she did the math.

“How old are you?” Bor’ka asked.

“Twenty-seven.”

“You can have kids at seventeen?” he asked, bewildered. “Seventeen is still a kid.”

“Girls can have them even younger. Usually around twelve,” Villanelle explained helpfully, and Bor’ka’s eyes grew to the size of saucers.

“But it isn’t recommended,” Eve jumped in, not wanting Bor’ka to get the wrong idea. “Most women don’t have kids until their mid twenties, and men until their late twenties. It’s difficult to care for a child when you aren’t very emotionally mature or financially stable yet.”

Bor’ka nodded in understanding. Eve wondered how he was doing on the emotional development front. He hadn’t had the best of relationships with his mother, as Villanelle had told her, and his long lost half-sister returning to kill most of his family, causing him to uproot his life with his brother, couldn’t have been helping things.

“How have you been doing, Bor’ka?” she asked, trying to make it seem conversational.

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” Eve glanced around, “how do you like traveling with Pyotr?”

Bor’ka considered the question. “It is okay. I liked seeing Elton-” 

Eve noticed Villanelle’s half smile out of the corner of her eye.

“-and I like seeing what’s out there besides Russia. But… I miss my family, sometimes.”

Villanelle’s smile dropped, and she had the decency to look guilty, even if it was an act.

Eve wrestled for something consoling to say, but she didn’t get the chance.

“It gets… easier,” Villanelle said haltingly, quietly.

Perhaps not an act, then. And, oh, did Eve’s heart ache at her words.

Villanelle swallowed. “You will miss them for a while, but it starts to go away after a bit.”

It was quiet for a moment, everyone thinking over her words,

“Does it ever go away completely?” Bor’ka asked hesitantly, looking up at Villanelle with pained eyes.

She looked back at him, then down at her plate.

“No.”

* * *

The dinner conversation had ended morosely, but most of it had been pleasant, so Eve considered it a win.

She was able to persuade her slightly sullen counterparts to join her on the living room floor for a board game and eventually they perked up: Bor’ka when she suggested ‘Clue,’ which was apparently his favorite, and Villanelle when she won the first round.

They laughed all through the second game, as Villanelle had taken to putting on a different accent for each of the characters, narrating in their voices as she moved across the board. The fan favorites were Colonel Mustard, Scottish and gruff, and Miss Scarlet, very French and very seductive.

Eve had never seen Villanelle like this before. It was incredibly endearing to watch her let loose a little and go out of her way to make someone else laugh. After she sent Bor’ka into a particularly hard bout of giggles, Eve reached over to take her hand and press a kiss to the back of it, in an effort to show her appreciation.

Villanelle smiled at her, eyes sparkling, and didn’t let go of her hand for the rest of the game. Eve didn’t mind. Writing her notes down on the little pad of paper left-handed was a small price to pay.

Villanelle ended up making her final accusation first. “I accuse Mr. Green of committing the crime in the conservatory with the knife," she declared, then checked the envelope in the middle. “Fuck!”

“Villanelle! Language,” Eve chided, gesturing to Bor’ka.

Bor’ka had other concerns, though. “Why did you call her that?”

“What?”

He frowned. “You called her ‘Villanelle.’ What does that mean?”

Oh, fuck. Eve wasn’t even thinking. These days, she referred to Villanelle as Oksana the vast majority of the time, but sometimes if Villanelle acted up, Eve would slip into her mindset from when they worked together at MI6 and she was always reprimanding Villanelle for one thing or another.

“Oh, it’s just a nickname,” Eve answered, feigning nonchalance. It technically was just a nickname, but the fact that it was originally her assassin codename made it seem… wrong coming out of Bor’ka’s innocent mouth. “It means-” Eve started, but then trailed off, realizing she didn’t actually know what it meant. She knew La Villanelle was a perfume--the perfume Eve still wore, actually--but she hadn’t ever asked why Villanelle chose to go by it.

“A villanelle is a type of poem,” Villanelle supplied. “Nineteen lines, very specific rhyming pattern.”

Bor’ka nodded, satisfied. Crisis averted.

Eve knew the what, now, but still wanted the why. Another conversation for later.

After making her incorrect Clue accusation, Villanelle was out of the game, and elected to lie down with her head in Eve’s lap, peeking at her cards.

“Why don’t you go help your brother?” Eve whispered down to her as quietly as possible.

Villanelle shook her head and closed her eyes. It seemed there was a limit to her good natured babysitting deeds, but Eve could live with that. Villanelle had already exceeded her expectations with the silly accents, and if cozying up to Eve was what kept her from flipping the board after losing, then so be it.

Bor’ka didn’t need help, as it turned out, beating Eve a few turns later. “I accuse Mr. Green of committing the crime in the conservatory with the _wrench._ " He checked the envelope. “Yes!” he exclaimed, raising his fists in the air.

“Nice job!” Eve chuckled, placing her cards down on the floor. She checked her watch. “Alright buddy, it’s 10:45, how about you start getting ready for bed and we’ll come up after we clean up the game?”

“Sure,” Bor’ka acquiesced, followed by a yawn.

As she watched him make his way to the stairs, stepping over Villanelle’s long legs taking up half the walkway, Eve thanked whoever was listening that Bor’ka wasn’t one of those annoying kids that protested bedtime for half an hour. She didn’t have much experience with babysitting, and didn’t want to have to start threatening to tell Pyotr that he was misbehaving or something.

Eve tapped Villanelle’s shoulder. “You have to get up too, darling.”

Villanelle groaned, but sat up obediently, and stacked up the cards and notepads and folded the board while Eve collected the pieces, dice, and pencils.

“You know, I’ve also killed someone with a wrench before,” Villanelle shared conversationally as they packed up the box. “Well, technically it was a torque wrench.”

“Jesus, Oksana.”

“Too much?”

“No, you know it doesn’t really bother me anymore. Just my gut reaction, I suppose.” She paused for a second, then asked, “why a wrench?”

“I was posing as a mechanic. And, it did get excellent torque,” she winked, then swung her arms like she was holding a baseball bat.

Eve could only sigh as she put the game back on the shelf.

They headed upstairs. Bor’ka was already in bed, lights on, when they knocked on his open door, and entered when he gave his permission.

They somewhat awkwardly moved to his bedside, neither sure if ten year olds got tucked into bed by their parents, let alone half-brothers, let alone kind of estranged half-sisters and their girlfriends who were acting as babysitters.

In the end, Eve just pulled the blankets up to his chin and reached for his table lamp, a ‘goodnight, we had fun with you today’ on her lips, but was stopped by Villanelle’s hand on her forearm.

“Wait,” she said, and Eve looked at her curiously.

Villanelle turned to Bor’ka. “I’m sorry.” She let out a breath. “I’m sorry that I killed your family. I’m not going to lie to you, I thought Mama deserved it. I still do. But the rest of them didn’t. So… sorry.” 

Bor’ka looked up at her for a moment, eyes unreadable in the same way that Villanelle’s became sometimes. Then, he nodded. “Okay.”

Villanelle nodded once back, seemingly recognizing that it was too much to expect immediate forgiveness for orphaning someone. Him accepting the apology was enough. “Goodnight, Bor’ka.”

“Goodnight, Oksana. And goodnight, Eve.”

“Goodnight, buddy. It was nice to meet you.” With that, Eve turned off his light, and they cracked his bedroom door open on the way to their own.

* * *

“I’m proud of you,” Eve notified Villanelle as they changed into their pajamas after brushing their teeth.

“You are?”

“Yes. I know this wasn’t easy for you-”

“It was fine.”

“I _know_ this wasn’t easy for you,” Eve asserted, leaving no room for argument, because she was right. “But you were amazing. You made Bor’ka laugh, you apologized, you taught him new things.”

“I also made him sad,” Villanelle countered, and Eve generally didn’t mind her pointless arguing, but she wished she didn’t feel the need to prove Eve wrong when Eve was literally just trying to compliment her.

“Yeah, well, no one’s perfect,” she replied, attempting to lighten the mood. “But the point is that you were trying to be good with him, and you were. So, I’m proud of you.” She walked over to Villanelle’s side of the bed, then, and stopped to stand an arm’s length away from her. “All night I’ve just been thinking about how much I love you.”

Those three words always managed to grab Villanelle’s attention. She finally looked up at Eve, her eyes failing to hide how touched she was by the sentiment. “I love you too,” she promised. “And I’m not great with words, but…” she trailed off, stepping closer to Eve so she could tug her into her body by her hips for a kiss.

When she kissed down to Eve’s neck, Eve was free to speak. “First of all, you _are_ good with words.” When Villanelle didn’t answer, she guided her face away from her neck with hands cupping her cheeks, forcing her to make eye contact. “You speak, like, ten languages, so that already makes you better with words than anyone I know. Okay?”

Villanelle nodded. “Okay, but don’t actions speak louder than words?” she grinned cheekily, squeezing Eve’s ass.

“Jesus, yes, fine, but that actually brings me to the second thing. We can’t do this right now, your little brother is on the other side of that wall.”

“We can be quiet,” Villanelle tried, returning to Eve’s neck.

“We need to be responsible. We’re still technically babysitting until Pyotr gets back so we need to be ready if Bor’ka needs anything.”

“I’m not very responsible.”

“Yes, darling, I know; that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Villanelle lifted her head to squint at her. “Maybe.”

Eve laughed, ran her thumb over a high cheekbone. “Sorry, baby.”

Villanelle nipped her nose cheekily at the callback. Then she sighed, overdramatic and charming. “Can we at least cuddle?”

“Of course.”

“Naked?”

“Nice try.”

They climbed into bed. It was a bit small, a double compared to the queen they had at home, but Eve didn’t mind. They preferred to be close anyway, unless it was too hot.

Villanelle lied on her back, one arm tucked around Eve and the other folded behind her head. Eve curled up against Villanelle’s side, head on her chest, leg slipping over hers and hand slipping under her shirt to rest against her stomach.

“Little handsy there for someone who won’t let me take my clothes off,” Villanelle teased.

“Shut up,” Eve replied, pinching at her skin lightly. “That’s only because I don’t want Bor’ka to walk in here.”

“I wouldn’t really care.”

“Yeah, I know you wouldn’t. It would be inappropriate, though.”

She felt Villanelle shrug underneath her.

They were quiet for a while, long enough for a person to fall asleep, but Eve could tell from Villanelle’s breathing and heartbeat patterns under her ear that she was still awake. Then she remembered a couple unfinished conversations from earlier.

She started brushing her thumb against Villanelle’s rib cage to get her attention. “Babe?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you choose to go by Villanelle?”

Villanelle was quiet for a moment, the muscles under Eve’s palm just barely tensing.

“You don’t have to tell me, of course-”

“No, it’s okay, I want to. I just... hadn’t thought about it in a while.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, and took a breath. “Anna used to teach me poetry, back when I would go to her house. We read all types of poems from all over the world. I usually liked the French ones. But there was one poem, a villanelle, by an American woman that really resonated with me. Anna let me rip the page out, and I always kept it with me. It was one of the only belongings I had on me when Anna call- when I was arrested, so it was basically all I had when I got out. Konstantin said I should have a codename, and Villanelle was the only thing that fit.” 

And Eve, Eve didn’t know what to say. What could she? She could tell there was pain, there, in the halted mention of Anna’s betrayal. But affection, too, permeating the first half of the story. Maybe another woman would be jealous of that, but not Eve, who knew that for a couple years, Anna was all Villanelle had, so of course she was going to speak on certain memories fondly. Even though it was almost definitely illegal, and Eve didn’t understand how any thirty-something year old who was having sex with a minor could sleep at night.

“Tell me about the poem,” she requested quietly, in lieu of voicing any of her other thoughts.

Villanelle moved her hand from behind her head to rest over Eve’s hand on her stomach, a wordless ‘thank you’ for not prodding her about the painful stuff. “It’s called ‘One Art,’ and it’s by Elizabeth Bishop,” she started. “It’s about loss, and how you can master the art of losing things so it doesn’t hurt anymore. First, you lose little things, like keys and time, and those aren’t bad. Eventually, you lose people and homes, which are worse, but not so bad if you already practiced with the keys and the time. Finally, you lose cities and continents.”

Eve doesn’t read much poetry, but she doesn’t think there’s a more relatable poem out there for someone like Villanelle. Unfortunately, Villanelle had to start off by losing the hard stuff--losing her family for the first time as a child, instead of the keys and time she was owed. Then she lost Anna, Konstantin a couple times, Eve, and her family again, to top it all off.

“For the past few years Villanelle has mostly just been my name,” Villanelle continued. “I don’t think about why I chose it anymore, especially now that I have you, and you’ve convinced me that you’re not going to suddenly decide to leave.”

Eve nodded as best she could against Villanelle’s chest, glad that she believed her. “I’m pretty sure I’m never leaving you, but if I did, there’d at least be a few conversations about it,” she vowed.

“I know,” Villanelle whispered, and squeezed her hand. “But,” she went on, continuing her train of thought, “it’s served me well in the past. It was a reminder, whenever someone addressed me, that I’d get by. I didn’t need anyone, I could handle losing anything. And I’m proud of that. I’m proud of the way I’m still standing, despite everything. But… I don’t want to have to live like that anymore. So, I think that’s why it’s just a name, now.”

Ah, and what a perfect segue into the other thing from earlier that she’d wanted to bring up. She’d originally planned to tease Villanelle, but oh, well. “It’s because you’re happy,” she whispered.

Villanelle sucked in a breath underneath her, and Eve could only smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Good. Me too.” Eve propped herself up on an elbow to look at Villanelle, then, and was surprised to find watery eyes looking back at her, and Villanelle’s eyebrows were upturned in an attempt to avoid crying. “Aw, sweetheart, it’s okay!” she laughed softly.

“I don’t think I’ve been happy in a long time, Eve,” she managed to get out, voice high. “And I don’t think I’ve ever made anyone else happy, either.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, then, because you make me happier than I’ve ever been,” Eve replied, realizing the truth of it.

That was decidedly the wrong thing to say, though, because Villanelle’s breathing hitched, and her face scrunched up a little more, and a tear slipped out of each eye when she blinked.

Eve moved to cup her face in her hands so she could brush away the tears with her thumbs as they traced down the sides of Villanelle’s cheeks. Then, she kissed her on the forehead, and started making soothing shushing sounds to help calm her down. As much as Eve thought that a full emotional release would do Villanelle some good, she knew she wasn’t used to them, and didn’t want her to become overwhelmed.

When Villanelle’s breathing was back to normal a couple minutes later, she opened her eyes, now dry, and looked up at Eve. “Sorry,” she said with a small frown. “I don’t know what just happened.”

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for. That was a normal reaction to the conversation we just had, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I mean, really, we talked about love, past trauma, finding happiness--we really covered a lot of mileage. I’m the weird one for _not_ being in tears.”

Villanelle giggled, and Eve loved her. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes,” Villanelle confirmed. “Can we go to bed now?”

Eve hummed as she reached over her side of the bed to turn off the lamp, then laid on her back. “Come ‘ere,” she invited, lifting an arm.

Villanelle scooted over and nestled her face into where Eve’s neck met her shoulder, sighing heavily as they settled into each other’s arms.

“On second thought,” Villanelle spoke up a few moments later, “I could really use some comfort sex.”

“You are _relentless!_ ”

* * *

**One Art**  
Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;  
so many things seem filled with the intent  
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster  
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.  
The art of losing isn’t so hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:  
places, and names, and where it was you meant  
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or  
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.  
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,  
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.  
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

\--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture  
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident  
the art of losing’s not too hard to master  
though it may look like _(Write it!)_ like disaster.

**Author's Note:**

> (Yes this got sickeningly sweet at the end, I'm ovulating leave me alone)
> 
> This one was so fun to write! Let me know your thoughts in the comments :)


End file.
